


The Curious Case of the Inexplicable Infant

by Epiphanyx7



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, Babies, Case Fic, Domestic, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Kid Fic, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-15
Updated: 2012-04-15
Packaged: 2017-11-04 01:22:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/388091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Epiphanyx7/pseuds/Epiphanyx7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Case!Fic. Sherlock and John find a baby.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Curious Case of the Inexplicable Infant

**Author's Note:**

  * For [siehn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/siehn/gifts).



> Written for siehn for the Five Acts Meme, (round six!).

  


John, like most sane and healthy adults, has retained a fair amount of love for children. He regards them with the sort of absent-minded, generic goodwill that has been ingrained in him from a young age. They're cute, from afar, but even being a doctor he's spent more time in active war zones, and less time around children than he'd like to admit.

Which is why it's so patently _awful_ when he follows Sherlock into an abandoned building and they find a baby crying in the corner.

“Well,” Sherlock says, eyes narrowed as he takes in the squalling infant, the blankets wrapped around it in a makeshift nest. “That is a surprise, isn’t it?” He wanders off, muttering under his breath about cigarette ash or the like, leaving John to panic quietly as he approaches the child.

John is a doctor, of course, so he’s able to determine that the baby is filthy and hungry but otherwise in good health, six months old or thereabouts. It can’t have been left there long, because it’s not exactly warm out and the building hasn’t any heat, so he assumes the mother is a vagrant who’d stepped out for a moment and shall be returning.

“Is that thing still crying?” Sherlock asks, wandering back into the room and looking shocked to see that the baby is still there. “Well, here, try this then,” and he shoves a clean diaper in John’s direction. “No time to waste, John! The game, it is afoot!” And he stalks off towards the exit, eyes bright with excitement.

John stares at his retreating back, then looks down at the baby.

“Sherlock -- what do you expect me to do with this?” He shouts.

Sherlock spins, silhouetted dramatically by the sunlight spilling in through the doorway behind him. “Change it into a clean nappy, and then bring the dratted thing with us,” he says, sounding confused, as if John is being unreasonable. “Honestly, John, were you about to abandon a baby in a building? That’s not like you.”

John cannot argue with that.

\--

The baby is indubitably female, and once her nappy’s been changed, she doesn’t stop crying. Instead, she seems to be working herself into a fit of tears and screaming, small fists pummelling John at every opportunity.

“John,” Sherlock says, peering through a microscope at some sort of ooze he’d found in the building. “Can’t you get that thing to stop making noise?”

“It’s a baby, Sherlock, they don’t exactly come with an instruction manual,” John snaps.

“Oh, fine then, give it here,” Sherlock turns, snatches the baby from John’s arms and tucks her up against his shoulder. “Stop crying,” he says, lips pursed, his voice firm as if he expects her to understand him. “You’re distracting me from my work.”

It’s a sad reflection of what has become of John’s life that the baby not only stops crying, but immediately yawns and drops her head onto Sherlock’s shoulder, ready for a nap.

“Brilliant,” John mutters. “That’s just brilliant.” and Sherlock raises an eyebrow at him pointedly.

\--

They take the baby home with them.

Mrs. Hudson coos lovingly at it while Sherlock takes a shower to wash the river water off of his skin, and then the baby is unceremoniously handed back to John for a feeding.

“I have no idea why I’m the one who has to do this,” he says, tucking her in the crook of his elbow. She’s sucking eagerly at the bottle, eyes half-lidded, both hands grasping tight as if John is going to take her food away.

“Don’t be _stupid,_ John.” Sherlock says severely.

John sighs.

\--

The case lasts for two weeks, and during those weeks, John and Sherlock take the baby with them _everywhere_.

Three days in, Sherlock confiscates her bonnet with a gleeful “Aha!” and runs off to get shot at, while John does his best to follow while pushing a pram.

John is forced to fight thugs in an alleyway behind a brothel while Sherlock sings her a lullaby, making disappointed faces at John every time he makes noise.

“You’re going to wake her up,” Sherlock hisses as John dodges the thrust of a knife. “Keep it quiet, the lot of you!”

Fortunately, that proves enough of a distraction for John to kick the man in the head, disarm him, and toss him in with his equally unfortunate compatriots.

“I think I hate you,” John says quietly, but the baby is actually asleep so he doesn’t really mean it.

Sherlock frowns at him.

\--

The night before Sherlock solves the case, John wakes up at half four, stumbling into the kitchen to make a pot of tea and hopefully forget his dreams.

He finds the tea already made, Sherlock lying on the couch with the baby.

His robe is open, ends trailing over the floor, and sherlock and the baby are both fast asleep, her face pressed up against his neck, one small hand resting on his cheek. Sherlock has one hand on her back to keep her in place, and the other hand holds the bow to his violin.

It’s quite possibly the most painfully adorable thing he’s ever seen.

John drinks his tea, drapes a blanket over Sherlock and the still-nameless baby, and goes back to bed.

\--

It seems her name is Emma, and her parents are alive -- although there had been a small matter of the human trafficking ring and the drug smugglers and, naturally, the blackmail to deal with, before Sherlock finds them.

“Emma,” Sherlock repeats, a look of distaste on his face. John tries to give him a disapproving look, but Sherlock ignores it. “How pedestrian. I’ve been calling her Guinevere, but I suppose as you’re her proper owners, you can call her what you like.”

“You named the baby?” John groans. Of course Sherlock named the baby. Of course Sherlock would get _attached_.

Sherlock gives John a haughty look. “Well, I wasn’t about to do something so utterly plebeian as to refer to her as ‘the baby’ for a fortnight,” he snaps. Sherlock on the best of days isn't exactly a pleasant fellow, but this seems to be a particularly nasty mood he's in. John's not sure what to make of that.

Emma’s parents look confused. “I don’t suppose I could hold her?” the mother asks, arms reaching out.

John doesn’t _imagine_ the way Sherlock’s arms tighten around her, eyes narrowing as he steps back. “Sherlock,” He says quietly. “Give them their baby, please.”

“They named her _Emma_ ,” Sherlock hisses at him. “Surely they don’t deserve to have her. We could keep her, and then she’d grow up a Guinevere.”

Emma’s parents are starting to look worried.

“Sherlock,” John says firmly.

“Oh, fine.” Sherlock hands her over petulantly, fussing a little at the hem of her dress, ensuring her socks are placed on right. Emma’s mother looks at Sherlock fondly, now that she’s not worried he’ll steal her daughter away.

“Let’s go,” Sherlock decides, suddenly, turning with a dramatic swirl of his coat. “We’re finished here.”

\--

John isn’t sure how to write about this case in his blog.

\--

Three nights later, he finds Sherlock sitting on the couch at two in the morning, frowning down at his empty hands. John flicks on the light, moves to sit next to him.

“I could have done it,” Sherlock says dully.

“I know.” John agrees.

“She would have been happy,” he continues, still staring at his hands. “I would have made her happy, John.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t want to give her back.” Sherlock admits quietly. He sighs, shoulders slumping forwards, the absolute picture of misery.

He ruffles a hand through Sherlock’s hair, draws the other man down towards him. “I know,” he says again. Sherlock leans against him, rests his head on John’s shoulder. “You would be a wonderful father, Sherlock.”

Sherlock sighs. “I know.”

\--  



End file.
